


sweet child o' mine

by bevioletskies



Series: twenty questions [3]
Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevioletskies/pseuds/bevioletskies
Summary: Peter has a bit of an out-of-the-box idea for his one-month anniversary with Gamora - visiting his mother for the first time since returning to Earth.





	sweet child o' mine

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t read the main fic, all you need to know is: a) the Guardians attend a superhero school on Earth, b) therefore they are in their early-to-mid 20s (except for Rocket and Groot), c) Peter and Gamora were fake-dating but are now dating for real, and d) they've been playing an "endless" game of twenty questions since they started fake-dating as a way of getting to know each other. However, very little of those plot points are brought up in this particular fic.
> 
> All I know about Peter's hometown is what I got from Google, so apologies for any inaccuracies. There are also lots of headcanons about Meredith mentioned here, including her middle name and birth year, which I don't believe are given in the MCU or the comics.
> 
> Fic title is from the song [Sweet Child O’ Mine](https://open.spotify.com/track/4MhTFsyqIJnjsOweVcU8ug) by Guns N’ Roses.

“Peter, for the love of _everything_ , will you please stop pacing outside my door and just come in already?”

Sheepish, Peter slowly opened Gamora’s bedroom door, gingerly peering around it like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Only, she couldn’t see his hands, because for some reason, he was holding them behind his back. She vaguely wondered if he had been playing around with Rocket’s odd arsenal of knick-knacks and accidentally handcuffed himself (again). “He-e-ey, Gamora,” he drawled. Clearly, he was aiming for nonchalance. Personally, Gamora thought he looked a bit constipated. “What’re you up to?”

“Wondering what’s wrong with you _this_ time,” she teased. She set her book aside and sat up in bed, folding her arms across her chest. _This ought to be good_ , she thought.

“Well - uh, it’s our one-month anniversary. And before you freak out on me, I wasn’t expecting anything from you. Or that we have to do anything. We don’t even have to talk about if you don’t want, like, _what anniversary_ , am I right? Why _would_ we talk about it, it’s not that big of a deal, and - ”

“ _Peter_. Sometime today, please.”

“I was thinkin’ over the weekend about doing something nice for you, y’know, just ‘cause, and remember the bake sale during homecoming week? Anyways, I got other Peter to get his Aunt May to make you more of those chocolate muffins you liked.” With a flourish, Peter presented what he’d been hiding behind his back - a tupperware container, holding a dozen of the aforementioned muffins. “I swear, I just wanted to preface this with our anniversary so you know I wasn’t trying to make these a part of it. I just wanted to get you chocolate. Because I know you ran out of the Hershey’s bars you keep stored in that box under your bed.”

Gamora blinked, stunned. “You knew about that?”

“Groot and I were playing hide and seek,” he shrugged. “Anyways, um, you want these, right?”

Laughing softly, she finally moved aside, ushering for him to join her on the bed. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Peter, that was sweet of you.” She accepted the container, setting it down on her nightstand so she could move closer to kiss him. “Has it really been a month?”

“One month, yeah. Or according to everyone else, seven months,” he chuckled. “Think we’re good to go for another?”

“I think so,” she hummed, giving him a sly smile. “Although our last outing made me question things a little.”

“In my defense, that karaoke bar was total false advertising - when they said oldies, I thought they meant _Earth, Wind & Fire_, not the freaking _Backstreet Boys_ \- ”

“I meant your awful choice in ‘greasy food’,” she interrupted, though she was grinning as she said it. Peter was pleased to see her using air quotes, something she had never understood prior to arriving on Earth. It was rather sweet, seeing her pick up Terran mannerisms, especially ones that Peter was fond of using himself. “What did we learn about suspicious-looking food trucks?”

“To take Yelp reviews more seriously,” Peter nodded. She fixed him with another stern look. “To actually _check_ Yelp first.” Gamora rewarded him with another kiss, allowing Peter to wrap his arms around her middle and pull them down onto the bed, their heads landing softly onto the pillow. She deepened the kiss, glad to finally have some alone time with Peter for the first time all day. Reluctantly, however, Peter moved away first, his hands sliding upwards to gently cup her jaw. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I also had a favor to ask.”

“You’re not going to surprise me with an anniversary date, are you? Because I have a midterm tomorrow,” she said, frowning.

“No, not that,” he promised. “I, uh...we’ve got a long weekend coming up, and I was thinkin’ about…” Peter let out a slow exhale, his breath trembling slightly as he did so. Concerned, Gamora brought her hands up to rest over his, rubbing soothing circles with her thumbs. It was rare to see him so unnerved. “...I was thinkin’ about...going home.”

“ _Home_? As in your hometown?”

“I feel like it’s the right time. I’ve really settled into who I am and who I wanna be, you know? And I think now’s the time to go back and see who I was,” he said, giving her a rueful smile. “But I don’t...I don’t wanna be alone. I was thinking about asking Mantis, since she could keep me from getting over-emotional, but then I realized it would be missing the whole point. I mean, I’ll take her eventually, but I think the kind of emotional support I _really_ need is from you. If you can. And only if you want to, of course.”

“Of course I do,” she murmured, her eyes warm. “I’m here for you, Peter. Or at least, I’d like to try my best to be. My only condition is that _I_ pick where we stay. I don’t trust you to check reviews anymore.”

“Deal.” Peter buried his face in her neck, enjoying the comforts of her touch, her presence, her affections. “Thank you.”

* * *

The rest of the school week was spent rather anxiously - it was, indeed, midterm season, and the Guardians didn’t see much of each other outside of hellos and goodbyes if they happened to be on the ship at the same time. Peter and Gamora were sleeping separately as well, since they had very different study schedules and didn’t want to disturb the other. They were pleased to find their worries of recurring nightmares had come away unfounded - aside from one nightmare in which Peter had been eaten by a UFO shaped like a pepperoni pizza (the sketchy food truck experience had _really_ stuck with him), they slept as peacefully as they always did, though admittedly a little better when they were together.

Peter also spent the week nervously anticipating what it would be like to return home. For lack of a better word, it would be _weird_ to walk the streets of St. Charles, take in the sights and smells of a place that he’d known when he was a different person altogether. He was also a little worried about how Gamora would react, or how people would react to her. He had cautioned her about it beforehand - after all, there were people who didn’t take kindly to the _word_ ‘alien’, let alone actually seeing one in person. But Gamora had insisted on not concealing her appearance - she would be wearing a hat and gloves, of course, given the crisp bite of October weather starting to settle in, but she wasn’t about to wear oversized sunglasses or a balaclava anytime soon.

On Thursday afternoon, the Guardians said their goodbyes to their leaders as they got ready to leave on their private plane (on loan from Stark, as always). Mantis was shocked to find that Peter was putting her in charge while they were gone, though he and Gamora had previously reasoned she would be the only one who could literally keep everyone’s emotions in check, and prevent them from killing each other in their absence. “Just don’t forget to make sure all the appliances are off and the windows are locked every night - and remember that Groot’s got that special soap since the other stuff makes his bark itchy - oh, and I’ve left a mixtape for him, it’s all the songs that he can fall asleep to - ”

“Peter, they’re our teammates, not _house sitters_ ,” Gamora sighed, tugging on his arm. “Come on, the pilot’s getting impatient.”

“Or maybe it’s just you,” Rocket snickered.

After several rounds of hugs (even Nebula accepted one from Gamora, awkwardly patting her on the back as she did so), the two of them boarded the plane, waving goodbye out the small windows as they took off. “This’ll be like the New York trip all over again,” Peter grinned, leaning forward as the seatbelt light switched off. “Except we weren’t dating at the time.”

Gamora shrugged as she knelt on the floor and began rummaging through her backpack for something. “We were fake-dating, so that counts for something. We also spent a _lot_ of that trip sightseeing, so I suppose there will be some similarities.”

He watched her, curious as to what she was looking for. “Do you remember the last night of trip? When we danced in the hotel room?”

“Yes. Why?”

“We almost kissed that night.” Peter leaned back, reminiscing. It felt like years had passed since that moment, but it had been less than four months ago. “What do you think would’ve happened if we did?”

“I know what I would have _done_ ,” she said quietly, pulling out the item she’d been looking for - the tupperware container. “I would have thought it to be a mistake, because I didn’t really have romantic feelings for you then. Romantic curiosity, maybe. And then we would distance ourselves from each other out of self-doubt, and never realize our potential as a couple.”

“You think so?” She nodded, a bittersweet melancholy in her eyes as she sat back in her seat, holding the container almost protectively in her lap. “Well then, I’m glad it didn’t turn out that way after all. I like this outcome a lot better. We spent way too long being stupid about our feelings, but we got there in the end, hey?” He paused. “Gamora, did you eat _eight muffins_ already? It’s been four days!”

“Midterms were stressful and combat practice wasn’t enough to blow off steam. I can hear the judgment in your voice,” she retorted, the evasiveness in her expression fading away in favor of playful mirth.

“That’s because I _am_ judging you - can you get pimples? Or nosebleeds? Wait, no, you have a super good healing factor. Never mind, that was a dumb question. But _geez_ , Gamora.” Giggling softly, she picked up one of the remaining four, broke it in half, and held it out for him. “You’re offering me _half_ of one?”

“You did get them for _me_ ,” she teased, though she did hand him the other half. “Only because you asked so rudely.”

He shot her a mock expression of hurt, holding it for all of ten seconds before he began laughing with her. Peter could feel the somewhat dreaded anticipation of the trip and the tension in his shoulders melt away as he took his first bite, watching Gamora as she did the same in near-perfect synchronicity, her eyes twinkling. His heart beat a little faster at the sight - he would never quite get used to how natural it felt to be with her. It might’ve only been one month, but there was something about her that made him feel like they had been together forever - like he _wanted_ to be with her forever.

* * *

They landed at the St. Charles County Airport about three hours later, just in time to pick up a quick dinner before heading to their hotel (“Are you gonna make me check Yelp for McDonald’s?” “Don’t sass me, Peter.”). They sat on the floor of the living room instead of at the table, eating and chatting about how chaotic their respective weeks had been. When they finished, Gamora moved closer to curl up against Peter’s chest as they watched reruns of a sitcom that they had never seen before, nor could they name.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” she commented a few episodes later, lifting herself up so she could properly examine his face. “Is something wrong?”

“If you can believe it, I think I’m overthinking things,” he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Just getting kinda worked up about going around the old haunts again. Even going to that McDonald’s was kinda weird, since I went to that one a lot as a kid. I mean, what’s it gonna be like when I visit my school? Or the park?”

“You also put the hospital down on the itinerary. I found that rather morbid of you,” she said, biting her lip. “I wasn’t going to ask, but...you aren’t going to go... _inside_ the hospital, are you?”

“No, definitely not.” He began raking his fingers through his hair vigorously, as if he’d found an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Before he could agitate himself any further, Gamora grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his scalp, pressing her thumbs against his fingers so she could force them to relax. She then brought his open palms against her own temples instead, staring up at him inquisitively. Smiling softly at her, he began running his fingers through her hair instead, and as she’d hoped, in a much gentler manner than he had been with himself. “I owe you one. For being here with me.”

“I’m still not very well-versed in dating protocol, but I’m _pretty_ sure it’s not based on an exchange of favors,” she said, winding her arms around the back of his neck. “Although...since I got my fight clinic finally approved by the Director, I’ve been seeking a male demonstration partner.”

He furrowed his brow. “ _Me_? I’m not a bad fighter or anything, but I’m definitely not the best. You could probably find someone more experienced.”

“But we already know each other’s fighting styles and instincts. You also tend to be my opposite, which would help greatly in showcasing different techniques,” she explained. Leaning in closer, brushing their noses together, she whispered, “I also happen to know your body quite extensively. That’s useful, don’t you think?”

“And you accuse _me_ of sexual innuendos,” Peter muttered, though secretly he was proud. Also, if he was a little more turned on than he had been fifteen seconds ago, Gamora didn’t need to - no, actually, she would definitely know, considering she was sitting on his lap at this point. “Bed?” he said hopefully.

“Mm,” Gamora hummed, deliberating a little longer than he’d like, a mockingly thoughtful expression on her face. “We’re brushing our teeth first. Then yes, bed.”

* * *

Gamora woke up earlier than Peter, as she often did, scrolling through the plan Peter had cobbled together on his holo-tab. It wasn’t as detailed as she might have liked, but she supposed a trip like this didn’t necessarily call for structure. They weren’t making appointments or meeting with other people, the way they did when making supply runs. From what she could tell, they would be spending most of their time simply walking around, taking in their surroundings. Peter was probably going to tell her extensive details about everything in town, stories about what he’d seen or done here as a child, memories he’d shared with his mother.

She suspected if it wasn’t for Peter’s mother, he probably would have no desire to come back at all. It had barely registered to him when she had inquired about the rest of his family. “You don’t want to see the others? Surely, they must have seen or heard about you on the news,” Gamora had reasoned.

“If they were still around, they either don’t care about me or didn’t try to contact me. Or both,” he had shrugged. “Grandpa, he’s...he’s probably dead.” His voice had gone a little off on the last word, cracking with emotion, and she decided to drop it from there.

The morning was spent half-awake, a little restless from adjusting to a new bed and a new environment. Gamora had adapted quickly as always, but Peter grumbled about the mattress being too soft as he brushed his teeth, before they went out to get some groceries. His mood brightened a little upon seeing Gamora’s new ensemble - along with her typical leather pants and boots, she was also wearing a cable-knit sweater she had stolen from him that practically swamped her in fabric, a leather cape jacket that made her look every inch the badass that she was, and a thick wool hat, complete with fluffy pom-pom.

“You’re staring,” Gamora said without looking up as she pulled on her gloves.

“I’m wondering where you’re hiding your sword?” Peter tried. Gamora reached down to reveal that her smallest blade was tucked inside her boot. “Right. Also, you just look really gorgeous right now. That’s not to say you aren’t usually beautiful, I mean, you’re _always_ beautiful, not that that’s the only thing about you that matters, because you’re just awesome all around, but like - ”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, except to the grocery store on schedule,” she snarked, grinning. “Come on, let’s _go_.”

While the hotel had been informed ahead of time who Peter and Gamora were (the owner had very generously offered a discount for their “hometown hero”, but Peter had declined, feeling oddly weird about the title and its implications), every other person and place remained oblivious, and therefore, surprised upon seeing them in the grocery store. A couple families in particular pulled their children a little closer when they saw Gamora, and if Gamora’s grip on both the shopping basket _and_ Peter’s hand was a little tighter than normal (which admittedly wasn’t great for Peter’s blood circulation), he didn’t comment on it.

She relaxed once again when they arrived at Blanchette Park, armed with deli sandwiches and juice boxes on Peter’s suggestion. “I spent a lot of my childhood here,” he told her as they settled down at one of the picnic benches. “There’s a waterpark, and baseball fields, tons of open space for kids. My mom also enrolled me in daycamp here, too.”

“What’s that?” Gamora asked. She kept a wary eye on a group of children sprinting by, shrieking happily as they chased each other around the field. Some of them glanced over at her and Peter briefly - one even waved “hello” - before resuming their play.

“Daycamp? It’s a program that’s kinda like school, except there’s way less learning involved,” Peter chuckled. “We played sports, made art, did games and team-building exercises, storytime. That kinda thing.”

She nodded, lost in thought as she began eating, her eyes still roaming across the large open areas of the park. Peter had shown her the few old photos he had in his possession of him as a young boy, and she remembered wondering what he had been like. She could picture him, boisterous and buoyant, running across the park with the others, his long shaggy hair whipping about in the wind. She could also imagine him sitting quietly with his Walkman, watching the other children go by as he hummed along to his favorite song. “Question,” she said after they’d been eating in silence for ten minutes. “What’s your favorite memory here?”

“I dunno if I have _one_ favorite memory,” he mused, taking another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s just a lot of _good_ memories, you know? Runnin’ through the sprinklers, sittin’ under the tree and listening to music, people-watching. That kinda stuff.” He paused. “You’re smiling weirdly. What’s going on?”

“I was learning about accents in my espionage class the other day, and I was admittedly quite curious about yours,” she said, smiling a little shyly. “You sound _almost_ like the others we’ve encountered - the hotel desk manager, the grocery store clerk - but you’ve picked up a little bit of dialect from being with the Ravagers, yes?” He nodded, wondering where she was going with this. “Since arriving here, it seems that your original accent is getting stronger. It’s kind of...cute.”

“You like the accent, huh?” Peter grinned, leaning across the table.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Gamora smirked in return, popping the last bit of her food in her mouth. “I only said ‘kind of’.”

After they finished lunch, they walked through the park at a leisurely pace - they were in no rush, this being their only stop of the day - hand-in-hand, enjoying the gentle breeze of the mid-October air. Peter began pointing out different spots he frequented, certain park benches he’d preferred or trees that he had tried to climb (the operative word being ‘tried’). “Broke my arm fallin’ outta that one,” he said cheerfully, when addressing what looked to be the largest tree in the entire park. “Tried again the next week after I got my cast off, on my seventh birthday. Only sprained my shoulder that time!”

“I worry about you sometimes,” Gamora sighed. “And by sometimes, I mean _frequently_.”

“Oh, and I kissed Kimberly W. under _that_ tree. Or maybe it was Kimberly F.,” he wondered, eyeing an oak tree with a particularly low overhang.

“You’ve kissed many Kimberlys in your lifetime, it seems.” Gamora reached around to grab Peter’s other hand in hers and began walking backward, guiding him towards the aforementioned tree. “How old were you?”

“Does it matter?” Peter murmured. He swung their joined hands around to tuck them behind her back, slowly pressing her against the tree trunk, tipping his head in consideration. “I just wanna kiss _you_ right now.” He bent down to meet her halfway as Gamora tilted her chin upwards. Just as their noses began to brush, eyelashes fluttering closed in anticipation, Peter suddenly found himself embracing empty air, as she’d slipped out from under him and was now jogging away, glancing over her shoulder at him with a wickedly devious smirk. “You’re the worst,” he called after her, though he sounded just about as fond as he felt.

“Lies and slander, you speak too frequently about how I’m your favorite person in the universe for that to be true,” she shouted back, beaming giddily. “Keep up, Peter, I’d like to see this ‘waterpark’ you speak of!”

They didn’t return to their hotel room until dark, having spent the entire day wandering the park and its adjacent areas. Peter offered to cook dinner, with Gamora supervising while she did some homework. She dragged one of the dining chairs over to the kitchen counter and sat down, bringing her knees up against her chest, her hair still damp from her shower. She was wearing another one of Peter’s shirts, her nose still flush from the heat of the hot water.

“I’m getting better at this, okay?” he protested, brandishing a wooden spoon at her when she chastised him for not paying attention to the stove, and nearly flicked her in the face with boiling hot chicken broth in the process. “ _Shit_ \- sorry, babe.”

“Drax has been teaching you how to cook quite adequately, but I think it’s the kitchen _safety_ you’re lacking,” she teased. “I’d like to take a look at the mission roster we have lined up for November, but your short attention span is making me nervous. If I go into the bedroom to get my tablet, do you promise not to set the kitchen on fire while I’m gone?”

He made a face. “Here.” He passed her his own holo-tab, already open to their mission docket, and returned to the stove, stirring vigorously. “What’d you have in mind for us?”

“I think we should discuss the potential dangers of the embassy job, but it would be the most lucrative in more than just units. Our reputation would benefit greatly as well,” Gamora said thoughtfully, beginning to scroll. “And speaking of units, I have a list of recommendations from Pepper regarding mattresses, so we should _finally_ place an order next weekend, and then the others will stop bothering us. Oh, this is unrelated, but Janet’s requested we do dinner with her and Stark on Friday to go over the details of that Avenger-Guardian coalition. Are you available?”

“Should be, my only plans for Friday were to watch _Back to the Future_ with you. Again.” Peter turned and carefully poured out two even portions of chicken noodle soup into bowls. “Hey, I did it!”

“It was from a can, Peter,” she chuckled. “But I’m very proud of you. So proud of you. So _incredibly_ \- ”

“Sarcasm’s a weird look on you,” he commented, handing her a bowl and spoon as they both walked over to the dining table. “But I can’t say I hate it.”

They were about two minutes into the meal when Peter paused to watch Gamora, a smile beginning to grow on his face. She wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting - eating absent-mindedly, her phone in her other hand as she checked her emails - but he couldn’t help but be enamored with every little thing about her, as mundane as it was. It was nice to just be around her, to not have to squeeze in a quick make-out session between training and dinner, to talk about everything and nothing at all without getting interrupted by their nosy friends. Getting to be completely alone for four whole days seemed more than ideal to Peter, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. He was quite certain now that his decision to bring her instead of Mantis was the correct one - he loved his sister beyond compare, but her overly frenetic energy would likely stress him out even more. “I like this…this, domestic thing we’re doing.”

“Domestic?” She set her spoon down in her bowl, folding her arms neatly on the table.

“Me cooking while you’re looking over our plans, talking about how we’re gonna spend our money this month and the dinner dates we’ve got lined up...seems pretty domestic to me.”

“I suppose,” Gamora said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “As I’ve said before, I have no basis for romantic relationships aside from pop culture and our classmates. But I’m very much enjoying this... _us_.”

“As am I.” Peter grinned, reaching across the table to briefly squeeze her hand. “Though that thing you did in the park? _Not_ cool. I was really liking the idea of kissing you where I’ve kissed someone else before, replace it with a better memory.”

“Nice save,” she said dryly. “And were you not kidnapped when you were _eight_? How have you kissed so many people before then?”

“I _knew_ that was bothering you,” he exclaimed, triumphant. “What can I say, I’m just that good. _Ow_.” Gamora had pelted him with a balled-up napkin and hit him square in the forehead. “Right. I’m just gonna shut up while I’m ahead.”

* * *

Peter woke up the next morning later than usual, feeling pleasantly warm and pliant. He rolled over to snuggle up against Gamora, only to find that the bed was empty. “Gamora?” he called, wondering if she was in the bathroom. When he didn’t get a response, he slowly walked out into the main living space to find her curled up on the couch, her back to him, on the phone.

“We aren’t coming back early unless it’s a _real_ emergency, Nebula,” she was whispering, exasperated. “I couldn’t do that to Peter. This means a lot to him, okay?”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, sitting down next to her. She only held up a finger to hush him, though she reached over to pat his arm reassuringly to satiate him for the time being.

“Just get Mantis to keep it safe for now,” she continued, a little louder now that she knew he was awake. “Check in with me tomorrow and don’t let him get his hands on any of it. Yes. Yes. No, shut up.” Peter’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Okay. Bye.” Groaning, Gamora hit the end button and promptly slumped over face-first onto Peter’s lap, an unusually child-like reaction on her part.

He automatically moved to push her hair out of her face, his fingers tracing her jawline. “What was that all about?”

“Yondu somehow found the money and went on a rant about how it’s way more than we said it was, but I don’t recall ever disclosing the full amount,” she mumbled. “Nebula was actually quite mature about it, in her own way. She told Yondu I would kill him if he spent a single unit, provided she didn’t slit his throat for betraying me first.”

“I...guess that’s Nebula’s way of proving she loves you?” Peter wrinkled his nose. “We really are the mom and dad of this team, aren’t we? When the parents are away, the kids will play. Except in this case, the kids are stealing mom and dad’s money and threatening to murder each other.”

“Sounds about right,” she snorted. “We should have left the money with Mantis in the first place and gotten her to hide it, but I suppose it’s too late now.”

He bent to kiss her briefly. “Nothing we can do. Breakfast?”

Gamora suddenly got to her feet, half-sprinting towards the kitchen. “I’ve got it!”

“You can trust me to cook, you know,” he called after her.

“Omelettes don’t come in a can, Peter, so you’re out of luck,” she gleefully yelled back.

Once they had eaten and dressed for the day, they headed out for their next stop - Peter’s elementary school. Peter was adamant they would only be able to sit outside for a little while before it looked suspicious, but he did want to spend at least a little time there, maybe take a lap around the field at most. It was quite a clean, attractive building, albeit a little run-of-the-mill, with its mix of traditional brick and large, modern windows. Gamora could practically picture a young Peter running up and down its halls, his face peeking out through the glass, rambunctious and cheerful and _innocent_ as could be.

He told her stories about what school for young children was like, how it compared to their experiences at the academy now. As always, he was a little all-over-the-place in his storytelling, skipping over the pieces that would have put together the puzzle, sometimes forgetting Gamora didn’t understand certain Terran customs she had never encountered before. He spoke of the subpar cafeteria food, saved only by pizza Fridays. He talked about how holidays were celebrated in school - turkey handprints for Thanksgiving, candy hearts for Valentine’s Day, and Secret Santa for Christmas. She could barely keep up with what he was saying, but she didn’t really care - Peter was so enthusiastic in sharing things with her, she didn’t have the heart to interrupt him.

However, her mind did start to wander a little once he began detailing the importance of the buddy system. She couldn’t help but think about why he had put together their little “tour” in the order that he did. The park clearly held nothing but happy (if a little shallow) memories for him. Today, it was Peter’s school and then later, the recreation center, places he had spent much of his formative years in that he had mixed feelings about, due to his unsavory interactions with other children, the bullies he’d encountered. Tomorrow, it was going to be the hospital, where all the kindhearted doctors and good nurses in the world would never fix what had happened the last time he was there.

And Monday? They would be visiting Meredith’s grave.

They sat on the curb of the school’s parking lot, eating granola bars that Peter had specially picked out at the grocery store, claiming they were his favorite lunchbox treat as a child. He sounded cheerful as ever, but Gamora could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were becoming more born of worry than of laughter. _Why has he insisted on slowly upsetting himself over the course of this trip_? Gamora thought, her gaze settling over his face. As far as she knew, Peter took no pleasure in sadness. He avoided showing her sad movies, didn’t like listening to sad songs. He wasn’t numb to the feeling, of course, she had seen him tear up a handful of times, but what could he possibly have to gain out of doing it this way?

“Do I have something on my face? Wait, no, don’t answer. I bet I just look really good from this angle or something,” Peter chuckled, waving a hand in front of her face.

She blinked, slightly confused, before recovering quickly. “It’s better than my angle from yesterday. I don’t like having to look up your nose when I’m kissing you,” she retorted easily. He laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in a bit closer. “Is this making you happy, Peter? Being here?”

“Y’know, it’s weird being here, seeing these places that I haven’t been to in years, but...it’s not really hitting me yet. That this was once home.” He swallowed loudly. She leaned into his touch, though she turned away from him so he wouldn’t be nervous. “Home was a ship for so long, I forgot what it meant to be in one place. To live in one house. Go to one school. Have one favorite restaurant, have a neighbor that I see every morning, pickin’ up the newspaper while I’m runnin’ to catch the bus.” His eyes flickered towards his shoes, fixating on the dirty laces of his boots. “Have...have Saturday dinners with Grandpa. Hear stories about how my mom was just like me when she was a kid.”

“That must have been lovely,” Gamora said quietly.

“It...it was.” His voice broke, and he let out a watery chuckle, head bowed. “Hey, I...I think it just hit me.”

“I’m sorry.” She felt guilty, though she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t anticipated such a response from him. She had always admired Peter for his emotional openness, his willingness to display his feelings to others so easily. She was trying harder each day to be that way as well - she found that it saved her the trouble of trying to verbally communicate the things she internalized at times - but admittedly, she still wasn’t very good at it. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” He brought his other arm up around her, shuffling closer so he could press his face into her neck. “I’m just...I'm always gonna be a mess when it comes to my mom, I think. It’s just who I am.”

“That’s because _she_ was clearly so instrumental in who you are. She was the most important person in your life. She _still_ is.” She could feel him trembling against her, shamefaced, the shoulder of her jacket becoming damp with his half-shed tears. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about your love for her. You can be honest with me, Peter, that’s what we’re here for.”

“I know, and I’m not embarrassed, I just feel like...” He sighed, lifting his head slightly so she could see his red-rimmed eyes, the splotches on his nose and cheeks that weren’t a result of the cold. “You know how, that one time, you said you felt like your emotions were in someone else’s hands? That’s how I’m feeling right now. Like being here has opened up my brain to some other dimension or something dumb like that, and now it’s just flicking all the switches on and off in my head at random.”

“You’ve been quite, for lack of a better word, predictable. What makes you think you’re out of control?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Peter said carefully. “It’s like...I’ve been almost... _too_ happy. Like I’m trying to gloss over what happened the last time I left this place - _how_ I left this place - by pretending this was some great utopia. Like, I love this city and what it meant to me as a kid, but it’s like my brain also told me to forget that the first time I ever threw up was at Blanchette Park. Or that I got beat up in this parking lot trying to save a frog from being squished by a bunch of big kids. And I’m worried that the reverse is gonna happen when we go to the bad places, you know? That I’m gonna go to the hospital and only remember that one nurse that always bought me ice cream from the vending machine whenever my mom was doing chemo. Or...the cemetery, and remember when my mom and I walked by it one Halloween while she was telling me her favorite ghost story.”

Gamora was quiet for a moment, contemplative, her palms rubbing soothing circles over the knots in his shoulders, urging him to relax. “It’s not about compromising your memories, I don’t think,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s restorative balance to the universe, or in this case, the city you’ve built up in your mind. You want to remember it the way you remembered your mother. With joy, _and_ with sorrow. Besides, your emotions don’t have to make sense _all_ of the time.”

He sniffled, cracking a weak smile. “And you say you’re not good with words,” he teased, kissing the side of her head. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I wanna go to the rec center anymore. I kinda just...need to recharge. Go back to the hotel, get some work done, maybe. It was never really a necessary stop, more of a checkbox on a list than anything else.”

“Okay,” she replied, getting to her feet. “Then let’s go.”

The rest of their Saturday was spent quietly, with Gamora spending her afternoon in the hotel gym, while Peter worked diligently on his persuasive essay on superpower legislature in their room, typing with vigor on his holo-tab. By the time she returned, he was half-asleep on the couch, his fingers sliding across the keyboard lazily, no longer at work. “Hey,” he mumbled drowsily when she patted him urgently on the knee. “Wha’s going on?”

“Just making sure you’re alright,” she replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “I still feel a little bad about what happened earlier.”

“I promise, it wasn’t your fault.” He held her hand between his, solemn. “C’mon, Gamora, you know me. I cry when my favorite _Top Chef_ contestant loses.”

Smiling beatifically, she sat across from him at the opposite end of the couch, swinging her feet up onto his lap, tangling their legs together. “Question. When was the last time I hurt you?”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean physically.” He scratched a little at his neck - Gamora’s fascination with leaving bites was definitely a turn-on, and he thought that her possessiveness of him was rather hot, but they did kind of sting in the process. “Probably way back to our last major fight, when you asked if the only reason I wanted to be friends was because I wanted to sleep with you. I couldn’t believe you still thought I was that kind of guy.”

“That was almost two months ago,” she exclaimed, astonished. “Have there really been no other occurrences since then?”

“I can’t tell you how much I hate that you still think you’re a ‘bad girlfriend’ just because you’ve never been one,” Peter said fiercely, leaning forward to rest his hands on her legs, rubbing her reassuringly. “Gamora, would a bad girlfriend be here with me? Would she be interested in my life, enjoy spending time with me, help me feel better when I’m down? If so, you’re the worst girlfriend I’ve ever seen.” She giggled softly, shaking her head, allowing him to pull her onto his chest, laying on her front. “Do you think _I’m_ a bad boyfriend? Since I’ve never been one either?”

“Of course not,” she protested almost immediately. “I’m just overthinking it, okay? Let me feel guilty.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her midsection and pulling her in closer. “Fine, but only because we’re both stubborn as hell, and this conversation is gonna go nowhere, _fast_. But if you’re still thinking about this tomorrow, I’m gonna give you a stern talking-to. Or at least a pep talk. Yeah, that sounds better, doesn’t it?”

“Whatever excuse you need to continue talking,” she teased.

* * *

The next morning, Gamora woke to find Peter sprawled out on top of her, his hands warm against the bare skin of her belly, having pushed her tank top up to her collarbones to expose her entire upper body, his lips making their way along her jawline and down the column of her throat. “Is this part of the pep talk?”

“No, but it can be.” He smiled into her neck before leaning back so he could look at her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better. But I should be asking _you_ that.” She wrapped her arms around him, her thumbs kneading gently at the top of his shoulder blades. “We’re going to the hospital today, after all. But we’re not going inside.”

“No, we’re not.” He hesitated. “We’re gonna go out to the field in the back. Sit in the spot where I was taken.”

Her breath hitched. “Peter…”

“I know. I have mixed feelings about the Ravagers, too. But I gotta face it head-on, right? Confront my fears and all that motivational crap?” His eyes flickered away from hers, downcast. “I spent my years with them never wanting to return to Earth, let alone to the place where I watched my mom die. And yet, here we are, livin’ on Earth. So I’m done running and hiding. Like, what kind of leader would I be if I never faced my demons? I could never be an example to you guys if I did that.”

“You’ve taken great leaps in maturity since we’ve met, and we all appreciate that. But wanting to avoid reliving your worst memory is reasonable, Peter,” she said adamantly, sitting up a little, readjusting her top as her back came to rest against the headboard. “We expect you to walk across hot coals, not run into a blazing fire. But if this is something you need to do, then I’ll be by your side.”

He squeezed her hands tight, eyes suspiciously glossy, though wisely, Gamora decided not to push any further this time. “Breakfast, then,” he decided. “You’ve still got some muffins left, right?”

An hour later, the two of them were sitting cross-legged in the open field at the back of the hospital, Peter staring down its doors like he was expecting them to burst open. He was probably visualizing what he must have looked like all those years ago - all of eight years old, a scrappy, skinny little thing, sprinting outside with tears in his eyes, blurring away the image that had already been seared into his brain - his mother’s hand falling lax as he failed to take it one last time.

Gamora knew she had no need to be anxious, despite the waves of nervous energy Peter was emanating himself. Her line of sight was clear, there were civilians (or in her mind, witnesses) everywhere, and the skies showed no signs of impending doom. Still, she couldn’t help but think about what had happened the last time Peter was in this very spot. She was also a little disturbed he remembered it so precisely.

They were silent for several minutes, eating quietly, enjoying the gentle breeze that nipped at their ears and noses. Gamora shuffled a little closer into Peter’s side, as he’d been stubborn about not wearing a scarf and was now pink in the face. He often commented about how her higher body temperature made her feel like a furnace sometimes, how he’d wake up to find himself sweating from her heat. Gamora didn’t find it all that fair - _she_ was the one who had to deal with his literal cold feet in the morning.

“There’s this...memory, that I have, and Yondu doesn’t like to talk about it, but it’s one of my favorites of him.” Peter’s gaze was still firmly fixed on the hospital, squinting occasionally as if he’d seen something despite the building’s frosted glass obscuring his view. He sounded far away, despite his fingers dancing absentmindedly on her arm. “It was my first birthday on the Eclector, my ninth birthday. I got real excited and told Yondu the night before - wanted to celebrate, somehow. He didn’t really get it, though - he never learned when _his_ birthday was.”

“But...we’ve had birthday celebrations for Yondu before.”

“Wait, lemme finish. Yondu got all weird about it, and I kinda regretted telling him. I didn’t know it would make him upset! So I went to tell Kraglin instead, thought maybe I’d do something fun with him instead of rubbing it in Yondu’s face. But then the next day, my birthday, I woke up and found a little glass figurine next to my bed. It’s a dancer, with long spiky hair, thick arms and legs, some sort of alien race I’d never seen before. But what it _really_ reminds me of was the Troll dolls that I carried around with me. And I knew for sure it was from Yondu, because he’s crazy about that kinda stuff. Then, when I went to breakfast, he stuck a lit match into my food because we didn’t have any candles. It was also the first time he sat down with me to listen to my Walkman. He told me that ‘Terran music ain’t that half-bad’.” He chuckled at the memory. “At the end of the day, he told me what I kinda already knew - that he didn’t really have a birthday since he was sold into slavery as a baby, and once Stakar saved him, they never bothered ‘picking’ one for him. I had a couple old newspapers in my backpack, the one I had on when they took me, so we stayed up all night, using those newspapers to look at horoscopes and figure out a birthday for him instead.”

“That’s so sweet,” she murmured, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You should know that...your stories always remind me of why I’m so fond of you. I wasn’t charmed by your confidence or your charisma, though I’ll admit it works on me now. It was your kindness.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, turning slightly to look at his face, smiling at the warmth in his eyes, that twinkle that he always only ever reserved for her. “During your debate a couple weeks ago, though, there was one thing you said that rather bothered me. You said you prioritized being happy, but never thought about the importance of being good. I find that doesn’t really align with your personality at all. Am I wrong?”

“It was hard to think of myself as a moral person in my thievin’ days,” he countered. “What would you call a guy who lies, cheats, and steals for his own gain? Because I wouldn’t call it ‘good’.”

“In the grand scheme of things, I would certainly think of you as the lesser of _many_ evils. No one is ever truly good or truly bad. Except, perhaps, our respective fathers.”

“Our dads are far beyond ‘truly’ bad. If anything, that’s a damn generous description for both of ‘em,” Peter said through clenched teeth. She could feel his shoulder shifting beneath her head, tensing.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this to _you_ , of all people, but you should really stop thinking so much,” she said. “This weekend is in honor of your mother. Don’t tarnish her memory by thinking about your father’s ill will.” When he didn’t respond, she frowned, increasingly worried. Peter really did have a knack for talking himself into emotional despair, didn’t he? “Why don’t you tell me about the things you took with you when you were visiting her in the hospital? The newspapers, for example,” she suggested.

He cleared his throat harshly, causing her to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, um. Newspapers from the house. The hospital gave her the morning paper every day, but I thought that it would be more personal if it was the subscription we got at home. It’s not like I wanted anything but the comics section, anyways. The picnic blanket we used to watch the stars - the one we used on our ‘six-month’ anniversary date? And uh, books she read to me as a kid, VHS tapes of her favorite movies. I would’ve taken a lot more on the day that she...that I...well. If I’d known.”

“Like what?”

“My mom did ballet when she was a kid, and she kept her first pair of shoes in this little box in her closet,” Peter nodded. His voice was slowly getting stronger now. “She had a lot of recipe books, but she liked to experiment with ‘em, so she handwrote her changes on index cards, those were in that box, too. She also...she also liked fixing her own car, loved being able to tell off the jerks at the auto shop for thinkin’ she couldn’t do it herself because she was a woman. She said she’d teach me someday, even bought me my own screwdriver that I...that I never got to use. She also wrote notes on post-its and stuck ‘em around the house for when I was having a bad day, or if I was stuck at home, sick. Just little things like, ‘I love you’, or ‘have fun at school today’, or ‘don’t forget to smile’. Cheesy stuff, I know.”

“I love hearing about your mother.” Peter finally turned to look at her again, giving her a tiny, but grateful smile. “Aside from my jokes about you never shutting up, I’m always curious to know more about the woman who made you who you are today. Your stories about her are endearingly sweet.”

“Good, because I like telling ‘em.” He began pulling at the grass, twisting the blades between his large fingers absentmindedly. She couldn’t bear to chastise him for doing so. “It’s weird, huh? This one spot in this entire field. Looks like any ol’ patch of grass, and yet. Changed my whole life.”

“Do you wish otherwise?”

“No,” he said almost immediately. It was the most confident he had sounded the entire conversation. “If my dad had just been a typical deadbeat dad, I would’ve never gotten picked up by the Ravagers. I’d be livin’ with my grandpa. And don’t get me wrong, I...loved him, but I think I’d be so different if I stayed here. Quieter. Shyer. I wouldn’t be confident, I wouldn’t be excited about life, I wouldn’t be...happy. I’d probably just hide out in my room, spending the rest of my life wonderin’ what could’ve been.” He smiled ruefully. “In a way, it’s like the Ravagers made me get over feeling sorry for myself. Like, I still thought of my mom every single day I was with ‘em, I just...they gave me purpose. Not the greatest purpose, but something to do. Something outside of sittin’ around and crying. So, yeah. Mixed feelings about the Ravagers, but at the same time, kinda grateful. Also gave me Yondu, and Kraglin, and eventually, all of you guys. So, no, I don’t wish it happened any other way.”

As always, Gamora felt as if she had a million more questions. It was strange, wanting to know so much more about another person. She had never wanted to look so deeply into another’s soul before, never wanted to know every last detail about their existence in tandem with her own. Then again, she never shared her life with someone before becoming a Guardian, never intertwined herself with another before becoming Peter’s best friend, and subsequently, his partner in more ways than one. And of course, she knew Peter had secrets he would never tell, things he didn’t want her to know about, and she respected that. But it was foreign to her, understanding someone so thoroughly and still knowing there were surprises to uncover. It was also a comfort, knowing she had found constancy in her life after years of a different kind of unknown.

Still, she could sense it was time to stop. Even Peter had his limits when it came to exploring his emotions, and there was a reservation to him, an impending sense of doom and gloom in his posture, that told her he wanted to spend the rest of their time at the hospital in silence. Gamora could only hope she was being the support he needed, that he wasn’t regretting taking her instead of Mantis. Much of their relationship had been improvisation on her part - a push-and-pull, a give-and-take, of what they wanted and what they needed, and where they could meet in the middle. Then again, she suspected Peter was very much doing the same. However, when it came to them, it seemed that instinct was winning over inexperience, considering how well they understood each other already.

They spent the next several hours walking around town, ducking into little shops and boutiques every now and then, finding trinkets to bring home to the Guardians, especially Yondu, Mantis, and Groot, who adored any little knick-knack they could get their hands on. Peter walked a little lighter, held his chin a little higher, and was more openly affectionate the way he usually was, kissing the top of her head while they were waiting in line, or insisting they take at least one selfie by the town’s welcome sign.

When they returned to their hotel room by late afternoon, they fell into their little routine again - Peter secretly thrilled at the thought of him and Gamora having a ‘routine’ of any sort in comparison to the utter chaos of living on the Milano with the team - where Peter began making dinner, while Gamora went to shower.

After she emerged from the bathroom, he could hear her footsteps approaching, though he knew she would scold him if he looked away from the bubbling pot of pasta. To his surprise, he felt her strong arms wrap around his waist, squeezing him briefly, before patting him on the stomach and stepping away. “Hey,” he said without looking at her, though as he moved across the counter to grab the strainer, he heard the sound of paper crinkling below him.

Glancing down, he realized Gamora had left a sticky note on his shirt.

He moved the pot off its element and switched off the stove before peeling the piece of paper off, his heart pounding elatedly. He held it up to his face, and there, in Gamora’s neat handwriting: _thank you for sharing your life with me_. He quickly blinked away the sudden wetness in his eyes before turning towards the living room. Gamora was lounging on the couch with her back to him, wearing yet another one of Peter’s sweaters (had she packed any tops of her own?), braiding her still-damp hair as if she hadn’t just done one of the sweetest things he’d ever had the fortune to receive.

“I’d like to reiterate that you’re the best girlfriend ever and I really wanna kiss you right now,” he informed her.

“Finish making dinner and I’ll consider it,” she replied without looking up, though she was smiling as she said it.

* * *

Unlike the previous morning, in which Peter had been entirely on top of her, this time Gamora woke to find him wrapped around her side, fingers digging into her hips, her face half-smushed into the pillows from the sheer weight of his body pressing against hers. At first, she suspected he wanted something - _her_ , to be specific - but there was nothing suggestive about his body language. In fact, he seemed almost a little _too_ clingy. “Peter?” she whispered.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Her heart broke a little. He sounded like a small child, lost, forgotten, left behind. She slowly turned over so she could look at him. “Peter...you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Came all this way to turn back around? That’d be pretty cowardly of me,” he mumbled, angling his face away from her, petulant.

“It’s not cowardice. If you’ve taught me anything in our time together, it’s that choosing to prioritize your heart over your head isn’t inherently a bad thing.” In a reversal of their usual roles, she found herself running her fingers through his hair, slowly twisting his curls between her pointer finger and thumb. “Take it from someone who has thought _many_ times over about looking into records of her long-dead parents, only to turn away out of fear of what she might find.”

That seemed to startle him. “Really? You’ve almost tried?”

“Yes. And maybe someday I’ll be ready. But right now, I’m not. And I’ll admit to that. I’m quite happy right where I am. Maybe that’s you too.” She removed one hand from his scalp, resting it over his heart. “No one will think less of you, Peter. So what do you want to do?”

He fell silent for a few long minutes, contemplating. He began sliding his hands over her body, along the bare skin of her waist, soft, open, though there was nothing sexual about his touch. Rather, it was a steady reminder that she was there, keeping him afloat as she so often did. He knew she was constantly worried about how helpful she was being, how she managed to think herself in circles until she was convinced she was more of a hindrance than anything else. They both had that in common - that ability to bring themselves down with one simple thought spiral. But in all honesty, she had been nothing less than perfect.

His mind then wandered to his mother. Oh, how badly he wanted to see her again. Hear her voice, feel her arms around him, her hand ruffling his hair. Sit with her at the dining table and talk about school, lay down side-by-side in the truck bed with the Walkman between them. For all his talk of her, it was then that he realized he never got to say goodbye, not really. And _that’s_ what this was all about in the end, wasn’t it?

Peter gave Gamora a simple, half-hearted smile. “I want to try.”

“Then let’s try.”

After a slow, mostly silent breakfast, the two of them bundled up and made their way to the cemetery. The atmosphere in the car was somber, unusually tense after the light-hearted nature of their first day. Neither of them were in good spirits, though understandably so. Peter usually liked to combat the mood with a joke or two, but now was not the time. “There’s a lot of cemeteries here,” he said quietly. “But I had a feeling this would be the right one.”

As the car pulled up the drive into the parking lot, Gamora caught a glimpse out the window of the small plaque mounted on the front entrance - _St. Peter Catholic Church Cemetery_. Yes, she knew exactly what Peter had meant.

The paper wrappings of the flowers that Peter had purchased rustled loudly as they started crossing the lawn - his hands were trembling. Considering he was known as one of the best gunslingers on campus, perhaps one of the very best in the galaxy, it was unnerving to see them so unsteady. Gamora reached to take one of his hands, intertwining their fingers together, shooting him an encouraging smile before they continued in silence, eyes traveling across the ground as they searched. It was another six minutes before they found the name they were looking for.

_Meredith Elizabeth Quill - Mother, Daughter, Friend, & Dreamer - 1957 - 1988 _

“She was too young,” Peter whispered, as if she could hear him, moving to set the flowers at her gravestone. His heart sank a little at seeing there were no other offerings around - had _all_ his family gone, left town or worse, died too early? He knelt on the ground, motioning for Gamora to join him. Somewhat clumsily, she settled down beside him, watching as he pulled the Walkman from his belt and set it down in the space between their knees.

After a full minute of uncomfortable silence, he seemed ready to speak again. “Uh, hey, Mom. I don’t know how to do this, exactly? I feel kinda stupid talking out loud, but I’ve seen people do it on TV all the time, so, uh, here goes. I’ve been back on Earth for two years now, but I haven’t come to see you until now because...I wasn’t ready. Actually, I don’t really feel ready now, either. But I wanted to be brave. For you.” He swallowed. “I think about you all the time. I talk about you a lot, too. I’ve always been a mama’s boy, hey? And I...I met Dad. Um. I might’ve killed him, too.” He let out a watery laugh. Gamora looked around warily to ensure no one was nearby to listen in on Peter’s confession. “I don’t know what you saw in him, Mom. He was a real piece of work. The biggest asshole in the entire damn galaxy, even. He saw people as pawns, treated ‘em like dirt. He talked about how disappointed he was in what he found, and I just...I don’t get that. How do you look at other people, and not want to...to know them, to understand them, to _love_ them? Because that’s all I ever want. You deserved better than him. You deserved the whole world, but...you were taken too soon. Because of _him_. It’s really...so freaking _messed up_ that he killed you because he loved you. Or at least, he thought he loved you. It doesn’t make any sense to me. How someone could do something so cruel to someone they loved. None of what he said or did made any sense at all.”

“Peter.” Gamora clutched at his arm anxiously, desperate to get him back on topic.

“Right, I didn’t come here to talk about him. I’m so freaking done thinkin’ about him. Um, maybe I can tell you what I’ve been up to. I, uh, got kidnapped by these space pirates called the Ravagers. They were s’posed to take me to Ego, but another kid, Yondu, convinced their leader to keep me instead. Spent my whole adolescence with them, basically. Then I wanted to cut and run. Start a new life over, by myself. Be independent, you know? The way that you were. You never needed anyone, Mom, but you were always there for everyone else. And I wanted to be like that. Anyways...it didn’t exactly go as planned. I ended up running into more trouble, because you know that’s how it always goes for me. There was this girl - kinda scary, super powerful, intimidated the crap outta me - who I was trying to work with. But there was a misunderstanding, and then she tried to kill me, but then we got arrested, and one thing led to another - and now, she’s my best friend. And my co-leader. _And_ my girlfriend. Also, she’s right here.” Gamora couldn’t help but laugh a little at the oversimplification of their first meeting. “We haven’t been together long, and we fight - a _lot_ \- but she means so much to me. And I’m so freaking grateful to have her in my life. I don’t think I’d be the same person with her.”

“We run this team called the Guardians of the Galaxy. I know, it sounds super over-the-top, but I think it rolls off the tongue, don’t you? We’ve got Gamora’s sister, Nebula, who still scares me shitless, but I dunno, she’s growing on me. And I have a sister, too, Mantis. Long story short, Dad raised her alone on his planet, so yeah, she’s my sister. She can read emotions and she’s super bubbly and friendly and sweet, you’d love her. There’s Drax, this big guy who seems kinda fight-crazy at first, but he’s cool, and he’s got a heart as big as his giant freaking muscles. Rocket, who, I’m not even joking, is a raccoon - well, a bioengineered creature that looks like a raccoon - who really loves weapons. He’s kind of a jerk, but he’s a lot of fun, too. Groot’s a talking tree - well, technically, he’s like a foot tall right now, and Gamora and I are basically his parents, but when he’s older - was older? It’s hard to explain - he’s like, _twelve_ feet tall. Oh, and I can’t forget Yondu, he’s with us too. He’s like a brother, although sometimes he tries to ‘dad’ me. It’s weird, but I'm cool with it.”

Peter began to laugh again, more joyously this time. “I can almost hear your voice, Mom. You’re probably like, ‘what did you get yourself into, baby?’. And you’re right. I sound absolutely _insane_ saying all that stuff out loud. I have a bug-like alien empath for a sister, a baby tree for a kid, and my girlfriend’s the deadliest woman in the galaxy. And we fight to save the lives of everyone we can, while we still go to school. Oh, I didn’t mention that. We go to this superhero school on Earth. It’s got a bunch of kids like us, with powers and abilities and stuff. We have classes on like, combat and espionage, along with normal things like math and history. It’s the strangest thing ever, but I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“There’s all this music I’ve been listening to lately. Not new stuff, but stuff I dunno if you’ve ever heard. Or maybe you did and didn’t like it,” he chuckled. “Either way, I’ve been making mixtapes of my own. I still haven't really listened to anything past the nineties, but I’ve been trying to find songs that remind me of the people in my life. I haven’t finished all of them yet, but I’ve gotten a pretty good start on Gamora’s. I think I’ll always be adding songs to hers. It’s cheesy, but it’s like...all the love songs became clearer to me once I realized I loved her.” Gamora ducked her head into his shoulder, shy. “Some of them make me think of you as well, Mom. Maybe not every word, but just, the message of love. The feeling of love. Because you never made me doubt how much you loved me. And I think that’s why I sometimes feel like I have a lot to give. Unlike Dad, I like being with people. I like helping people. Because of you.”

He bent to press play on the Walkman before shifting his legs out from underneath him, sprawling them out forwards, leaning back onto his hands. Gamora readjusted herself as well so she was sitting cross-legged, hands clasped neatly in her lap. The early morning clouds were beginning to part, the sun peeking through in small beams of light, bathing the entire cemetery in a warm, hazy glow. It glistened off the dewdrops that had settled on the grass from the overnight rain, illuminating the ground beneath them.

_The first time ever I saw your face...I thought the sun rose in your eyes...and the moon and the stars...were the gifts you gave…to the dark and the endless skies…_

Gamora briefly glanced around, hoping that they were still alone and would continue to go undisturbed, before turning back towards Peter. His eyes were slightly glazed over, though out of introspection instead of sadness this time, fixated on the inscription of Meredith’s gravestone. “How are you feeling?”

“Peaceful, actually,” he replied, rolling onto his side slightly so he could watch her. “I’m glad I did this.”

_And the first time ever I kissed your mouth...I felt the earth move in my hands..._

“That’s good to hear,” she nodded. ‘I’ve been...worried about you. Ever since you said you wanted to do this...I didn’t know if I could be there the way you needed me to be.”

“Well, I think this trip has proven a few things to me,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Seeing all these places...I don’t think of this town as home anymore. The only time I’m home is when I’m with people I love. And, you know, my mom might be _physically_ here, but she’s really _here_.” He patted the Walkman, his fingers lingering on the lettering. “I don’t feel attached to this place the way I thought I would be. I was emotional over what happened here, not _where_ it happened, y’know? So, maybe I’ll come back here again someday with you and everyone else, show ‘em where I came from, but it’s just...buildings to me.”

“Your sentiment has always been in people...things. Never places,” she commented, nodding in agreeance. “You said ‘a few things’. What else?”

“I also realized how solid we are.” He cracked a grin. “I mean, who knew, right? Looks like everyone really _was_ onto something when they wanted us to be together. I can honestly say that this past month has been really amazing because of you. Like being a part of this. I... _thank you_ , so much, for coming here with me, Gamora. It was a lot to ask of you, but I know I can always be myself around you, and I...I needed that. Especially now.”

She crawled a little closer, allowing Peter to envelop her in his arms, burying his face into her neck. Once again, she could feel the dampness on her shoulders, the tremble of his body, and all she could do was hold on. But she knew this time, it was out of happiness, and not sorrow. He was, for the most part, done crying for his mother. As he said, he was at peace.

They sat, loosely embraced, for another ten minutes, before Peter finally pulled away. “Okay,” he said, exhaling. He paused the music and slipped the Walkman back onto his belt, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his coat. “I’m ready to go. Let’s head back to the hotel, start packing.”

“Wait.” Gamora grabbed his arm before Peter could stand up. “Hold out your hand.” Confused, he did as he was told, only to find that she had placed a pad of sticky notes and a pen in his palm.

He smiled at her, awed. Sniffling, he began to write. Another few minutes passed before he was satisfied, sticking the note onto the flowers he’d brought, before he got to his feet, pulling Gamora up beside him. “Bye, Mom,” he said softly. “I’ll come back with the rest of the team someday. We’ll tell you the stories about our crazy adventures then. I don’t think I could do it justice by myself. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, the two of them strolled away, arm-in-arm, ready to return to their reality - an uncontrollable team, a slew of homework and tests, and the strong likelihood of another life-threatening mission or job waiting for them. But for now, Peter had found his peace. He had said his goodbyes.

_I felt your heart so close to mine...and I knew our joy...would fill the earth...and last till the end of time…_

- _Roberta Flack, 1969_

_(but also Peter Quill, your little Star-Lord)_

**Author's Note:**

> I used to read over the epilogue of the main fic and think, "wow, this is peak sappiness". Never mind, it has now been beaten by this one-shot instead.
> 
> The song they were listening to at Meredith's grave is [The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face](https://open.spotify.com/track/0SxFyA4FqmEQqZVuAlg8lf) by Roberta Flack, which is a song Peter has on his "For Gamora" mixtape and one of my personal favorite love songs. Also, I know I'm certainly not the first person to write a "Peter and Gamora visit Meredith's grave" fic, but I wanted to do one in this universe, since I believe most others are set post- _Infinity War_.
> 
> Thank you _so_ much for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, the comments on the last one-shot were so sweet and I see y'all picking up on my Mantis/Nebula teasing ;) As always, I hope you're enjoying this series as much as I'm enjoying writing it!


End file.
